Chapter 13 - Blood is Thicker Than Vengeance"Salvatore?" Clara whispered, her voice trembling with a mixture of terror and white-hot rage. "How did he find me here?"
Rico’s demeanor shifted in a fraction of a second. The soft, domestic warmth vanished, replaced instantly by the cold, calculating aura of the Butcher of Brooklyn. His hand slid effortlessly to the holster beneath his jacket.
"Nobody finds this estate unless they are invited, or unless someone inside leaked our location," Rico said, his eyes narrowing as he looked toward Marcus. "Lock down the perimeter. Let him through the front gates, but keep twenty men trained on his vehicle."
"Boss," Marcus nodded, turning sharply on his heel to execute the order.
Clara grabbed Rico’s sleeve. Her fingers were ice-cold. "Rico, you don't understand. Salvatore isn't just a low-level thug. He’s the one who orchestrated the warehouse fire. He traded my parents' safety to the highest bidder."
Rico looked down at her hand on his arm, then met her terrified eyes. He covered her trembling hand with his own large, calloused palm.
"Calm down, Clara," Rico said, his voice dropping into a low, steady cadence that surprisingly grounded her. "Nobody touches you in this house. Not your uncle, not the Petrovs, nobody."
Heavy footsteps echoed outside the double doors. The locks clicked, and the massive oak panels swung wide open.
May you like
Salvatore Vance stepped into the foyer. He was a barrel-chested man in his fifties with greasy slicked-back hair and a diamond ring flashing on his fat pinky finger. He didn't look intimidated by the armed guards lining the walls; instead, he grinned like a wolf smelling blood.
"Well, well, well," Salvatore sneered, looking around the palatial estate before fixing his beady eyes on Clara. "Look at our little runaway waitress, playing house with the most dangerous man in New York. You've grown ambitious, niece."
Related Stories
